The way it's done
by Peridot-Plath
Summary: This story chronicles the friendship between Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. It questions the Gryffindor's simple philosophy of Good and Bad and is about how hard it is when one doesn't have a choice. R&R!
1. Default Chapter

Note: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling

The way it's done

A Random Glance Through the Looking Glass

The smallest confused idea is always greater than a grand, completely clear one.

Giacomo Leopardi (1798 – 1837)

_--That's the way it is, chaos holds infinity within itself_

this was what Blaise Zabini added, his laconic two-cents worth beneath the poet's thoughts. It was scribbled in his slanted, nondescript handwriting in his copy of the man's works. He liked to think of this as a sort of correspondence from beyond the grave…or perhaps just as a record of his own thoughts—if he ever happened to cross the road one day, and if a car happened to bump him just a _slight _bit too hard, his mother would have this to read aloud at the funeral. He liked to have control of all the things that happened to him, he liked the ability a brilliant mind had of dazzling…even after death.

Pansy Parkinson never wasted time—she slept less than five hours a day. She never wasted energy either, not in all her six years at Hogwarts had she ever joined in the school-corridor duels that occurred, in her opinion, all too often; the only reason she could come up with on why they happened was because of Draco's hot-headedness. She had come to this conclusion after being his friend for what must have been more than ten years as well as hours of debate with her other friend, Blaise Pansy was by nature a schemer—she always thought beforehand what she would do in order to achieve her ends—it didn't mean she was wicked or anything though, just survival instinct, it was the only thing she could do in a school where just about everyone held prejudices against her house, even the Headmaster.

Draco Malfoy knew this as well. He was often upset, but as Pansy had once said, _what's to be done then? All the misery in the world cannot cure what was doomed to begin with._ And she was right, they were doomed…well, in a sort of way. It wasn't like,

"…_The abyss, horrid, immense,  
Wherein, in falling, he unremembers all.  
Such, O virgin moon,  
Is this, our mortal life"_, the way Blaise so often put it, quoting another one of his precious Italian poems, it was more of…unhappiness caused by a little over two thousand three hundred people the whole school minus the Slytherin House, then.

Misery, misery, misery,

Oh misery!

My whole _mortal existence_

Such is the torment that lies

In the deeps of my tormented heart!

D. M.

This was a parody he had written, _The Numerous Griefs of my Bleak, Barren Life by H. P. _He had gotten his love of writing naughty parodies from Blaise, no doubt his friend would protest, _this isn't anything of the sort I read! _But they were all poetry…or at least that's what _he _thought, it just depended on how good or bad it was.

Another Look

They were walking—again—through the numerous winding corridors in their school. _Visits to Nowhere-Land, _Blaise had called it. It was a Saturday afternoon and they always spent Saturdays like this, just walking, and sometimes talking as well. They were an odd-looking group. Draco, in the middle, was pale and on the tallish side, he had iridescent grey eyes that always carried a sort of alert wariness-- or was it weariness for want of rest? He never had a true claim to a personal tragedy of sorts, it was just…him. Pansy was a short, thin girl with wavy auburn hair that went all the way down to waist, _my _only _crowning glory, _she often declared, her face was--not at all like a pug the way some acquaintances rather unkindly, and clumsily, described it—mild and in some ways charming with her lively wittiness. Blaise was again different; with a slight, delicate frame, dark hair and eyes he was, plainly put, unremarkable-looking with not a trace of his two parts European roots—and it was not only this that was not evident at first glance, no one could tell from looking at him that he was also, as he put it, "two parts genius".

And so they walked, it was more of the buying of oblivion than anything else. It was a different thing to all three of them.

Draco let himself be happy then, it was a sort of reward for himself; he often felt a sort of guilt, not the black, overwhelming sort of despair, it was rather the nibbling sort that caused a constant, complacent melancholy in himself. Blaise, in one of their discussions on his mental health, had put it as _la noia_—_what does it mean? _Draco asked, to which his friend replied, _it's Italian and untranslatable, there's no English word for it—_and gave a very convoluted explanation and so it obviously didn't help.

Ahead of him, Pansy walked with her usual briskness, every once in awhile stopping to let the others catch up with her. _Releasing nervous energy, _she once said, _I'm neurotic. _Not looking at anything in particular, she withdrew into herself, inside her head she was playing her usual music,

_Be still, the Hanging Gardens were a dream_

And then recalled all the images flying about inside her head and then set them free again. They were rather like birds, the way they flew about, and the moment she conceived the notion of a bird, she set a large, white one sailing into the distance in her mind. She could ride with the bird, or watch it go easily, soundlessly, quietly as if it had never been there.

In Blaise's head though, there was nothing…just an interminable void. He had been inspired to create it by a poem,

… _But sitting here  
And wondering, I fashion in my mind _

_The endless spaces far beyond, the more_

_Than human silences, and deepest peace;_

Yet, even oblivion has to end; the bell-tower tolled seven times, slowly, steadily, echoing over the lawns, about the surrounding forest and past the castle walls. Draco, Blaise and Pansy had rounded the lake half an hour before and just then, were lying in the grass at the water's edge. The lake was a grey colour, an odd hue; it spoke of forgetfulness, and sleep, and rain at night, yet when the bell rang, Draco raised an arm with startling quickness and looked at his watch, "My god, it's seven already." –Oblivion ended itself and the three started back for the castle.

That night after dinner, they sat in a quiet corner of the common room. "Come on Draco, you _told_ us you'd read another one of your parodies. Come _on!" _Pansy hurried him, "Don't be so slow, stop shuffling your notes about already—really, why don't you ever organize your things?" To which Draco replied: "I never lose my things unless there's a certain somebody bugging me! ... …Alright, here it is, it's called 'My Anguish'

from _My Bleeding Heart by H. P., _here goes,

I am like a husk,

Emptied of all stuffing as I am

So much anguish in my heart

It bleeds from dawn to dusk

My head is like a bedlam

Much noise and disquiet darts

About my empty brain

The rain falls and winter comes

The drops loudly drum

Like my tears, I want to die."

"Waaaaaa! Oooh, a real tragedy!" Blaise said.

"Thanks, I would put in more innuendoes but I got tired so I just ended it off with rhyming words, it's something someone as brainless as _him _would do."

"Say… there's a Quidditch match coming up soon, you remember, that one against Gryffindor in October. Are you giving the team extra training or anything?" Pansy said suddenly.

"Mmm hm, I have." Draco replied.

"Want me to make up a song or anything?" She offered.

"What's to make up a song about? That last time it was only because Weasley really stank, but I've seen them train at the start of the year and much as I hate to say it, he's gotten a lot better." Blaise burst in.

"Ugh, I know—don't remind me, too much pain." Pansy grimaced, "No song then. Guess you'd better train hard Draco."  
"I hate this." He buried his head in his hands, "it's really too much for me, the rest of the team refuses to do anything more than the bare minimum and I'm just one person. It's stupid!"

"Scare them, threaten them, you've always had a knack for intimidating people."

"Won't work Blaise, even if I said I'd A. Kedavra them they're too stupid to know what's good for them."

"Want _me _to try then?"

"It's no good, what could _you_ do? They don't listen to girls, remember?"

"So what'll happen?"

"We'll lose, and I'll lose my place on the team… …not that I care anymore. It's just not worth it… …and maybe it'll teach those boneheads a lesson too, they just don't get it that they _can't_ sit on their bum and twiddle their thumbs and rot and then expect to win a Quidditch match."

"Shit, sounds bad for you."

"It _is_ bad. _Everything_ is bad—heck, I think I should just go to Snape and tell him I quit, saves me the pain of seeing the Gryffies win."

"Maybe you should."

"I can't, Snape'll kill me!"

"At least you'll be dead then." Blaise chortled, "Oh, look, just _don't _turn up on the day of the match, get into a fight and make sure you're holed up in the Infirmary for the next two weeks."

"Good idea, I'll try it."

"No. Really, I mean it, what'll happen? What'll you do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You're serious?"

"Obviously. Look Pansy, if there was anything I could do, I assure you I would have done it earlier. It's not like I'm eager to lose you know."

"Oh, alright then, I was just worried for you."

In spite of himself, Draco had to smile, it wasn't often that any of his friends expressed concern for him outright and he said, "Thanks… …anyway, how do you suppose I should get my 'injury'?"

"Pick a fight with the Golden trio then, it's sure to get you into trouble."

"_And _lose us a gazillion House points, that's another certainty." Blaise pointed out.

"Oh, why's it so bloody difficult to do _anything_?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because that's the way it is."

"F—everything! I wish I'd never been born!"

"Don't worry, happens to the best of us."

"You and your totally warped perception of the world."

"Thank you very much."

"So what'll I do?"

"Well, you know, that trick stairway up the Astrology Tower? Tomorrow we've got Astrology, so you could trip and fall and then go bump bump bumpity bump all the way down—two hundred steps, fifty metres. Sounds appealing?"

"No. Never mind, I'll just arrange another Quidditch practice session on Wednesday and then I'll go sailing about in the air on my broomstick shouting at everybody like I'm going to get a haemorrhage or something and then suddenly I'll just 'black out' and go spiraling all the way down because the entire team is just too _stupid _to catch me. Then I'll land in the cold, wet mud with a sickening _squelchcrack_ and _then_ they take ten minutes to realize they've got to run to Snape and then another fifteen minutes to realize I need to go to the Infirmary where I'll be wound up for at least a month if I'm not already dead from pneumonia or something."

"And you'll get to ask old Snape in a 'I'm-on-my-deathbed-already-so-don't-refuse-me-anything' voice to let you quit the team. Brilliant!"

"And if you die—touchwood," Pansy added, "we'll both come to your funeral and read $12 for three Funeral poems we ordered off the Wizard Web aloud and then we'll cry and I shall wear my best wide-brimmed hat with a lacy white veil."

"Very nice of you."

"It's always a pleasure to serve you O Dear Lord."

"Humph!"

* * *

Notes:

All quotes are from Giacomo Leopardi (who is regarded as one of Italy's greatest poets), except for _'Be still, the Hanging Gardens were a dream' _which is the first line of the poem 'Be Still' by Trumbull Stickney, as for the parodies Draco writes and entertains his friends with, they are written by me and you may take them and have a good laugh with_ your_ friends too, I am sure they sound exactly like the dreadful sort of teenage angst poetry quite a few adolescents write.

* * *


	2. Falling Angels

The way it's done

Falling Angels

It was three o'clock in the morning and in the dark, quiet Slytherin common room Draco was fast asleep draped over the sofa. He had been up the whole night worrying over the upcoming Quidditch match and then slowly fallen asleep; no one had thought to wake him up (_Oh, just leave him alone, _Blaise had said when Pansy made a move to shake him awake). So he had lain there for hours, momentarily tossing and turning about in a restless, drifting, dreamless sleep. This forgetfulness was like the swallowing up of a stone by the ocean, or the disappearing of an eagle as it circled higher and higher over the earth… …these things; he had often talked about this dissipation of the consciousness with Blaise and pansy, but now even this he did not know. It was above all, a comfort.

"Hey, morning Draco." He could feel her hand with its long, thin fingers and long, scratchy nails on his shoulder, "Sorry we didn't wake you up last night, Blaise said not to bother you and anyway, you looked so tired so we just left you there."

"Huh? Oh no, not at all. Just fell asleep thinking about what to do for the next match."

"Still thinking about it? You got your thing planned out already?"

"Yeah…" He sat up and pushed his hair back from his face. "It's dreadful really, I'm going with that 'broomstick' plan. I hope nothing besides what I expect happens."

"I hope so too. Look, I got up early just so I could come down and check on you so you've got time to go up and change—see, everyone else is still asleep."

"What time?"

"Six-thirty in the morning, I know you like to take your time about things. Now go change."

"Thanks. See you."

He gave Pansy a quick wave then opened the door and tiptoed into the dormitory. It was strange seeing the dormitory in the early mornings, he had never been an early riser, choosing instead to drag himself out of bed after everyone else had already left. The air was cold and smelt rather like the streamwater running over the icy stones at his home. In the half-light he could make out the row of six beds, the first one neat and tidy—untouched, this was his. He headed for his closet, inside, his clothes were organized in a way reminiscent to documents in a filing cabinet, they were sorted by colour and labeled according to type; he had always been fanatically neat about his clothes. After awhile, he carefully picked out whatever he wanted to wear as well as his toothbrush (always on the top right-hand corner of his bed side table) and locked the bathroom (which was unnecessary but done only to satisfy his perverse liking of slowing everything down when others were in a hurry—the only person in the dormitory who wasn't on the Quidditch team was Blaise).

He took his time about getting ready so that when his moment of glory came—a loud scrabbling at the door and two guttural voice muttering about the door being jammed; obviously Crabbe and Goyle—he was only halfway through with brushing his teeth and so had an undeniable right to keep the door closed.

"Oh, that wicked bastard!" someone shouted—Theodore. More banging followed.

"Stop it right now, one more time and the door's going to be permanently busted." That was Blaise, "Look, why don't you change _outside_ the bathroom—oh no, don't look like _that_, I mean with your bed curtains drawn or something!"

"BANG! Bang, bang."

"Oh god, that door is going to break—stop, stop!"

"But he's not going to open up if we don't."

"Wait. Just wait. The more you bang the more he's not going to open the door."

Draco leaned over and spat into the sink. _One, two, three…open._ "Hi everyone, bathroom's free." And then he walked out to join Pansy.

"What was that incident in the dormitory about?" Blaise asked as he set down his books and slid into his place at the Slytherin table.

"Punishment for the team… sorry if you were held up Blaise, I couldn't resist."

"It's alright, just don't do it again. I nearly had my tooth knocked out when Crabbe pushed past me to get to the bathroom."

"Report him then."

"What, and let Snape take off some more points? By the way, what's your plan Draco?"

"Fall off broomstick, I hope I survive it."

"Be careful then."

Draco smiled inwardly then went back to eating his breakfast.

He was high up in the air then, he had always loved flying and the bright, russet-hued landscape could be seen for miles around. Looking down, he could see the rest of the team far below on their broomsticks. They had been practicing for hours, and usual, very half-heartedly.

_--Now's the time, breathe in…breath out…oh I can see Blaise and Pansy at the stands…that's her red coat, it's so bright……and he's waving, no, the both of them are…okay, so it's one, two, three…breathe, breathe…slip, slip then drop…spring's bright paradise is gone as the leaves…green…fall…they're not moving; dimwits…the wind…it's so loud and—_

"Oh god, he's falling. Blaise, quick let's run!"

"Bloody f— it all, those dimwits…they're not doing anything, oh damn it all!"

They could hear their footfalls sound hollowly, echoing about the empty stands as they ran. Pansy's coat was flying out behind her and she dashed, Blaise only a small way behind, down the stairs and out onto the Quidditch pitch. They had been expecting this but hadn't ever seen it happen and so they ran as fast as they could, boots pounding against the autumn rain-wet soil, grey with water towards Draco's crumpled form that had landed atop his broken broomstick.

"Run to Snape somebody, don't just stand there!"

"Gods Pansy, I think we'd better go get Pomfrey too." And they ran off in the direction of the Infirmary.

By the time Blaise and Pansy came running back with Madam Pomfrey, Snape was on the Quidditch pitch as well.

"What happened? You all saw this take place right in front of you and you didn't do anything—what did I tell you about House unity? Now, will anyone here give me a full account of what happened?"

The Slytherins were quiet for awhile, then Blaise spoke, "Professor, Pansy and I were at the stands when the accident occurred so we saw everything. Draco was at least fifty feet above all the other team members when he fell, so I suppose he was at least a hundred and fifty feet up when he fell. At first he flew around giving everyone instructions or something—I couldn't hear—and well, after that he flew right up, waited for a moment then just let seemed to zone out or something so he was on his broomstick when he fell. That's how it landed on top of him. That's all."

"Thank you Mr Zabini," then the professor turned to the Slytherin team. "Can any of _you _tell me something about how this happened?"

All of them muttered very low, "No".

"In that case, we will just have to wait for Mr Malfoy to wake up so that _he _can give us his version of events. You may go now."

Blaise and Pansy waited outside the Hospital Wing in silence, they had trailed Madam Pomfrey all the way from the field only to have the infirmary door shut in their faces

(the nurse had insisted vehemently that Draco needed rest and quiet, conveniently forgetting that he was out cold and so whether or not there was noise he wouldn't have noticed) so the best they could manage was the folding chairs along the corridor. The walls were yellow with the darkling light that came streaming in through the high windows. Pansy bit her lip and looked at Blaise's winter white face, he simply stared into space. What either of them were thinking, the other did not know; this was how quiet the air was.

As the minutes ticked by—audibly, from an unseen wall clock—Pansy sighed and began inspecting a strand of her hair. It had turned a bright shade of amber in the light she noted, and also that she was beginning to get split ends where the hair turned bleached as a tree in the lightning. _No more birds will sing their madrigals. _

Blaise lifted his gaze to the long, high window opposite. Absent-mindedly, he slipped off his green school scarf and knotted it around his hands so that they looked like pale wings in a forest. _Cockatoos…… white ones, _he thought, looking down and seeing the memory of a summery day back in Florence. It was strange, these hours; from far off he could hear dinner going on in the Great Hall but he wasn't hungry. Time stood still for the two of them in the corridor.

They sat there the whole night. Nobody told them to leave and they were thankful. Day broke the next morning, Pansy shifted in her chair as a shaft of light shone into her eyes and slowly she opened them. Blaise was still fast asleep in his chair and the place held the customary morning coldness. She stretched a little more then got up, paced about for awhile to de-cramp her legs then shook her friend awake.

"Get up, morning already." She said as Blaise miserably opened his eyes.

"Uh huh, morning to you too, lady. And also, I think we should go get our books, I don't suppose they'll permit us to miss lessons today."

And they set off down the corridor in silence.

As the pair entered the dining hall, the entire school broke out in furious whispers. Pansy groaned inwardly, _how could Dumbledore have blabbed the incident to the whole student body? Plus, he must have made it seem like Draco jumped or something. _Quietly, Blaise squeezed her hand—he must have known just what she was thinking—and gratefully she clasped his as well and bravely, they made their way to the Slytherin table. It would be a long day ahead of them.

Lucky for them, Blaise and Pansy attended the same classes and so they sat together at the back of the classrooms for the entire day; under the table they passed notes to each other and shared their views on the shape of Professor Vector's nose to the shape of Professor McGonagall's bottom:

_Blaise—Looks like old chewing gum stuck on somebody's shoes_

_Pansy—It's pink, it's mottled, it's ancient, yeah._

_Blaise—My, we are wicked._

_Pansy—Yup._

_Blaise—But who would want to guzzle her nose anyway?_

"**Zabini, Parkinson! What on Earth have you written there? Give it to me!**

_--short pause—_

"**Arrgh! You(bleep) KIDS! Fifty points from Slytherin!"**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Pansy—My, it's sort of……..heart-shaped._

_Blaise—No, I'd say oval._

_Pansy—On the broad side or sharp side?_

_Blaise—Is it not obvious?_

_Pansy—Sharp side then, like old weasel's face._

_Blaise—And under that robe that bum is spotty; that's what you're saying?_

_Pansy—Don't even think of it! Yuck! _

They had fun even if they left the room without hearing a word of what the teacher had said. _Unlike Gryffindors_, Pansy would remark afterward, _Slytherins—at least the smart ones—had enough sense to make concessions for themselves. _

After the school day was over, Blaise and Pansy (after getting permission from their House head) went to 'visit' Draco, but whether or not they had bothered to do so, he—still being unconscious—would have been none the wiser.

"Oh dear, he looks dreadful." Pansy burst out when they saw their friend lying motionless, tucked up in bed.

Blaise simply rolled his eyes and shrugged, he was never very good when it came to comforting others, "There's nothing we can do, just wait and see when he'll wake up… …look, don't be so worried, I'm sure he'll make it."

"Dear god, I just hope so."

That night, Blaise lay awake quietly in the shadows of his drapes. He blinked as he gazed up at the ceiling, both hands clenching the edge of his blanket. He could hear the sound of his own breathing and his heart beating, _swish-huff, swish-huff, swish-huff, swish-huff……bump, bump, bump. _And then a flutter on the conception of an idea; silently and bright as a hummingbird he slid out of bed and then out of the dormitory after taking the care to arrange his pillows and blanket in a vaguely human shape in case anyone happened to wake up while he was gone and look around. Blaise, chewing his lip furiously, set off down the stairs; he was going to see Draco.

Blaise ran down the darkened corridors as fast as he could (well, as fast as a person with absolutely _no _prior experience doing real exercise as well as a ridiculous pair of fluffy bunny slippers on his feet), he was nervous, although his friends had had innumerable experiences sneaking out after bedtime, _he _had never done it personally. As he shuffled along uncomfortably, he began to count the reasons for why he had even considered doing this. One, guilt; two, he wanted to be able to prove to Pansy that he was right—Draco would be fine; and three… …he wanted to make sure Draco would be all right.

_Down the stairs, through the corridor, left, right, straight ahead……oh if only I had wings or something…and ah, we're here Blaise! _

On reaching the infirmary, he inspected the door and by some miracle, no, it wasn't locked and so he reached out an arm and tried to push it…_f it, no, it is locked…oh well, I'll see what I can do, I don't want to come this far for nothing…let me see, _and he pulled his wand from his pocket and proceeded to pick the lock with it (remember everybody: MLNMK, which means Magic Locks Need Magic Keys). _Just a little bit more there…and it's done! _Triumphantly, he proceeded to enter the hospital wing and headed straight for his friend's bed.

He leaned over and proceeded to take a good look at Draco who seemed to be _still _out cold. "Goodness Draco," he muttered. "What have you done this time?" It was then that Draco suddenly opened his eyes—not a very good time for either of them.

"My god! What are you _doing_ here Blaise! And with your face so close to me! I could've gotten a disease!"

"And what are you doing, opening your eyes just like that? As for putting my face up to yours, I was preparing to give you a great smacking kiss on the lips in the hope of waking you up! Disease indeed!"

"Oh really, if you'd wanted a kiss you could've _asked_ for one, needn't go around in the middle of the night and give me a shock like that."

"That was a joke, what I was really doing was inspecting your skull to see whether it had cracked or not."

"Good, that sort of scared me you know."

"Well, it scared me too if you want to know. And also, I'm just glad you're all right."

As Blaise walked back, every once in awhile turning back to check if he was being followed, he could feel someone's gaze boring into him. _Nonsense, even old Pothead isn't stupid enough to sneak out like this, _he thought as he tried to shake off the odd feeling that came climbing like a lizard up his back. _Oh dear, could it be Filch ……but wait, he would've came pouncing out at me ages earlier. No, never mind, just walk quickly. _And duly he sped up, trying hard not to break into a run. He was annoyed at himself really, (this type of feeling was very natural to anyone who had grown up with his level of intelligence) _Blaise, why're you scared? It's nothing ……then what's that I feel behind me, huh?_

"Blaise, Blaise don't run, stop. It's me."

"And who's me?" he hissed back, he was now _very_ annoyed to the extreme.

"I'm Ginny. You know, the one from Gryffindor."

"So? What're you calling me for? Got lost or something? Gryffie Tower right over that way, find it yourself."

"No, I am _not _lost!"

"Then what? Look, if it's not important, ask me tomorrow I haven't any time to waste. I'm tired."

"It is important!" It was in near total darkness and yet Blaise could hear the hint of desperation in her voice, he took out his wand, "_Lumos._" He would regret that, because in the light he could see that her eyes were brimming with tears and he knew immediately that, Slytherin though he was, his conscience would not let him get away without at least trying to help her.

"Alright then, since I've got a soft spot for the ladies, I'll help. What is it?"

"Okay, it's like this, Harry and I went flying—you know, on his broomstick—and well, there was an accident."

"Yes? Go on." Blaise could feel himself getting worried as well."

"Yeah, there was an accident, he fell off his broom."

"What! Potter, falling off his broom?"

"_Yes! _And look, it's not funny. It was so dark out there and quite a windy night too, a great gale came and blew the broomstick off course, right into the Whomping Willow."

"Oh, why is it that you people never learn from their mistakes? He must have crashed into that blasted tree for two times at least."

"It was an accident! And for your information, he did learn from his 'mistakes', this time he jumped _off _his broom before it hit the tree."

"Oh god, just how much of an improvement is that? No, never mind, how high up was he when he fell and where did he fall?"

"At least fifty feet up. Landed near the lake."

"Good, the ground there ought to be soft—after the rain you see."

"Mm hmm, I need your help…"

"To what?"

"Carry him to the dormitory until its morning and I can think up of a story to explain how he got injured."

"Dormitory! Are you mad? He definitely needs to go to the Infirmary right away!"

"But we'll get into trouble… _you'll _get into trouble."

"Well, there'll be even more trouble if he dies in the middle of the night because you didn't dare to lose a few points."

"Oh, what'll we do?"

"Go wake up Madam Pomfrey and hope she doesn't tell on us."

"What'll I tell her then, I couldn't possibly tell her what really happened!"

"What? Then you want to say he fell out of bed and rolled out of the dorm and into the girl's dorm? Look, you'll just have to tell her the truth, it's A&E Room protocol."

"What's an A&E?"

"Never mind, forget it. Let's go now."

"Okay." And together, they ran to the nurse's office.

"Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pomfrey!" Ginny and Blaise pounded furiously on the door.

"Oh my, what are you two doing so late at night? I've got a good mind to tell your House heads about this."

"Please Madam Pomfrey, it's important."

"Yeah, Potter's had an accident."

"How did this happen?"

"Oh, they went flying at night, Potter fell."

"How dare you do this, I"

"I know, I'm sorry Madam Pomfrey, and as for Blaise here, he didn't tag along or anything, he's just helping."

"Never mind, spare me the explanation—where is he?"

"In the field."

"Quick, take me there then. I'll settle the matter of your abominable behaviour in the morning."

"It's this way Madam."

And before Blaise had time enough to think, _Oh no, not again,_ he was dragged along off to the field with the other two.

"There he is," Ginny pointed out into the dark. "Over there, near the lake Madam Pomfrey."

"_Lumos,"_ Blaise could hear the school nurse say and then he saw the tip of her wand flicker with a silvery light, illuminating the spot where Harry lay. He was lying sprawled on the ground, and as for the broomstick, Blaise would rather not think about it.

"Weasley, Zabini, you two take this stretcher here…gently place him on, gently, gently, we don't want to further injure him……there, now we'll carry him back up, _slowly, _do it slowly." And all three of them proceeded back up to the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey leading the way with her wand.

It was strange really, carrying the stretcher. All the while, Blaise avoided looking up, it gave him an odd feeling to see Ginny facing him that way, he kept his eyes on the floor and so, he did not see the girl occasionally looking up at him gratefully. They walked in silence excluding the times the nurse asked Ginny about how the accident occurred. An eternity seemed to pass before Madam Pomfrey announced, "We're here! Bring him in and I'll change him and check for any broken bones."

It was only when she opened the infirmary door that Blaise saw Draco's profile against the window, bright with moonlight. He wondered with a faint inkling of his coming doom what his friend would say if he saw him there with Harry and Ginny and so walked quietly to Draco's bedside while the nurse blustered about with bandages and Ginny wrapped a blanket round Harry's faintly groaning form.

"Draco," Blaise touched his friend on the arm, he knew he was awake.

"Wh-what is it?" Like any good Slytherin, he was playing his part—that was to pretend he hadn't seen Blaise at all that night.

"Ah! He's awake. See, I told you Mr Zabini, your friend _is _all right after all." The nurse's voice came from afar. "And as for you, Mr Malfoy, you've got company, it seems that Mr Potter here has also fallen off his broomstick."

"I have failed you me Lord." Blaise muttered , this was part of an old game they used to play as children after they read Geoffrey Chaucer's _The Canterbury Tales. _

"Aye, tis all right." Draco grimaced valiantly.

Blaise smiled inwardly, _still the Knight and his lord._

Ginny had offered to walk back to their respective Common rooms with Blaise, and as day broke over the castle, they strolled through the corridors, watching alternating light and darkness as they walked past windows and stone walls. In an unprecedented show of compassion, Madam Pomfrey had agreed to keep quiet about the night's incident. Blaise could hear the alternating sound of his own slippers and Ginny's boots shuffling over the cold floors. He turned his head a little to get a good look at her, it was really all due to his innate sense of curiosity towards people really, as well as how he had always wondered what red hair looked like after he had done a project on Titian 1 when he was six. By some happy coincidence, he tilted his gaze just as they were passing another window; the pale glass had somehow been transfigured into a square of light; and the girl's long, loose hair seemed to catch fire, turning, as if by some wondrous alchemy, a shimmering shade of red-gold,

_At last, _he thought. And then she looked at him. And they stopped there, for just a moment, and quiet as the dewdrop falls from the branch they each turned and walked their separate ways. Much had passed between them in that light.

1: Many of Titian's paintings feature red-haired people.

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Okay, I feel terrible for saying this but: Please, please please review. Any sort (of review, that is)is welcome. 


	3. Chapter 3

The way it's done 

After the fall

The fall had done something to him, it seemed as if the spring-green paradise had gone…or perhaps been left behind like the air as he fell out of it. And where was he?

_A strange new place._

And in the confusion, in that darkness the night left him mired in, Draco began thinking.

_Lucifer...the fallen angel. His sin was Pride, wasn't it? And for that there's no forgiveness?_

_Are the faithless then condemned? _

_Faith…a queer muggle invention really, from the depths of Antiquity. What _does _Man see when he peers into the abyss?_

And Humanity…_Is there any certain Good or Bad?_

_I will admit that virtue—like everything else beautiful and great—is nothing but an illusion. But if it were a shared illusion, if all men believed and wanted to be good, if they were compassionate, generous, high-minded, full of enthusiasm, in a word, if everyone were sensible (for I make no distinction between sensibility and what we call virtue), wouldn't people be happier?_

Leopardi again. An answer that came ringing, brilliant as the light glancing off a silver bell.

_And as for myself…what is there? _

Slowly, he fell asleep.

The next morning, as Draco woke up, the figure lying on the bed next to his caught his eye—Potter. As he settled back into the sheets, he thought about the last night's events, the rush and flurry of nightgowns and stretchers, bandages and sheets; how customary of that idiot to go flying at night, fall off his broom and cause so much havoc. He wondered idly how many points would be deducted from Gryffindor once the professors got wind of it…but wait, what about Blaise? He was caught out as well, and for once, Draco hoped that Pomfrey would go easy on them, the fates of both houses being inextricably entwined with each other—that was a first too, and the irony of it did not escape Draco.

"Oh, I see you're quite alright Mr Malfoy. Waking up just _now," _she paused and then winked. "Quite the Sleeping Beauty I see, you must have slept for two days!"

"Yeah, I slept quite soundly and _not _a break between.„work. She was never really too keen on schoolwork or any of that sort of thing, have now, here're your Quidditch robes, the house elves washed them clean too so you pop them on then go back to your dormitory to change."

"Thank you Madam Pomfrey."

He had changed into his school robes and set off for the dining hall with his books under his arm. He was in a rather cheerful mood as it was Friday (Draco never really fancied classes although they were easy for him) and also because the school nurse was willing to keep the night's events a secret, now _that _was a surprise. The morning light played around the old glass panes of the windows and it seemed as if everything had been remade since the time he fell out of the air. He wondered vaguely about this and then, following the turn of the corridor that led him out to the hall.

"Draco! You're back." Pansy exclaimed as he sidled in to the seat beside her.

"My, I thought you were going to sleep for ages." Blaise commented, widening his eyes sarcastically.

"I should be so lucky." It was good to be back with his friends.

After dinner, Pansy settled at her usual place in the common room and started on her homework. She was never really too keen on schoolwork or any of that sort of thing, her mind (she had come to a conclusion quite a long time ago) was far too active to love it and also, it was a Friday. But still, homework had to be done and she knew that there was really no better time for it— Pansy knew that if she actually made an effort to keep still she would be done in no time at all. _What's the drill now? Oh yes, discipline, duty, suffering. _And with this in mind she spread her things neatly over the desk and began working.

_Thoughts are all inventions of the mind, a sort of construction within the void as we all build palaces in the desert. Emptiness glitters with the reflected light of imagined jewels._

_--B. Z._

Blaise was lying in bed on his stomach, propped up with his elbows writing in his notebook again. He never made very long entries, just a few odd sentences whenever he felt like it—enough to show what he thought. He quickly re-read what he'd just written, shut the book and stashed it, along with the quill in it's place under his bed, then rolled over and faced Draco, whom he'd heard entering the room.

Draco walked into the dormitory, it was late, nearing one in the morning he was surprised to find Blaise still awake and writing something in his notebook.

"I didn't see you in the common room, what were you doing out there?"

"Looking up books in the library—you?"

"Writing a little bit, but before that I was observing dear little Vincent and Gregory. They were arguing with Theodore over who had said 'Snap' first—they were playing a card game and were very slow about it."

"Really, they're the only people who can play 'Snap' slowly and then argue over who won."

"Oh, the perils of being an inbred pure-blood!"

"My god," Blaise's remark had caught him by surprise, and somehow, at that moment an invisible thread inside him snapped. "what are you saying?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, why'd you have to get so hyper-sensitive over a harmless remark like that?"

"You sound like you mean all of us are inbred and stupid."

"Why would I ever say that? In fact, I'm most probably the last person who would think that way. Why would you think I meant it that way? It was just some odd remark. Look, I'm very tired, please don't pick at everything I say."

"Alright, I'm very sorry Blaise. It's just that these past days I've been thinking about how all of us, you know," He took a deep breath. "have to become Death-Eaters under Voldemort. I mean, we're obliged to do so since our parents have done it—if we don't then they might be killed."

Blaise took in a deep breath before answering. "Tough isn't it? It almost seems as if our futures are already written out and we're trapped. For me, I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, what about you?"

"I really don't know. My mother's already talking about getting me ordained right after my graduation…since my father isn't around, I know they're playing high-stakes with Voldemort—if I don't go along with them we could all very well be killed…as traitors."

"Yes, don't we all know it, the very thought of it makes my skin crawl. You know what happened to Regulus Black…not many know it, but he didn't really want to become a Death-Eater, he did it for the sake of his parents and wanted to be a member only in name—he wouldn't have the rest of it—and so he was murdered for being a traitor. Now he's branded as a coward…on both sides."

"That's very sad." Draco sighed and stared off into the distance, out of the window. "Either ways we're damned. Potter was born to save the world, no question about it, as for myself…I wish _I'd_ never been born." And the laugh that followed this made Blaise shiver.

The sun had not risen yet, but Pansy was already sitting in the Quidditch stands, high above and over-looking the dark fields. She liked it up there, with the wind in her hair and the quiet, and the distance all around. That morning, she had taken the effort to carry her lute up with her (yes, magic could be used but musical instruments were delicate and liked to be carried instead of being summoned left and right), it was quite a new lute—a fact which often raised eyebrows if eyebrows had not been raised at the fact that she played a lute in the first place—and this encouraged her to keep it that way. Slowly but surely, she settled it on her lap and began to play. The very sound of the instrument seemed to come from far, far away like some vague echo, a vision of something long past, a memory conjured from the dust of glittering palaces in a golden age. Pansy liked it that way, recalling all the right notes and constructing—again—a better resurrection.

_Oh, don't cry, it's not forever._

O, no end is limited to damned souls.  
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?

_--Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus_

And so in despair, such great, brave souls marched on and ended in despair.

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Disclaimer: This work is purely fictional, I do not intend to propagate any message whatsoever in here, my only objective is to write a good story. 


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